For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
T.S. Eliot

Our New Year’s weekend was pretty spectacular. It left me feeling pretty optimistic about the year to come.

We started with a Baby’s New Year Pizza and Pajama Party for friends, both new and old.

It doesn’t get much better than a bunch of cute babies in their ‘jammies on New Year’s Eve… except maybe spending the evening with a cute geek in his ‘jammies on New Year’s Day.

(and yes, I did get the man’s permission before plastering his underwear all over the internet; but please notice the ensemble here: the Batman boxers, the Marvel pajama bottoms, the Ninja Turtles tee… this, ladies, is who I sleep with every night. He is so cute. You are jealous, I know.)

But before we settled in for a night of cheap champagne, popcorn and Scrabble, my Geek and I took our offspring out for his first ride on his new bike.

It was an amazingly beautiful day and my kid looked so grown up riding his bicycle around. We played on the jungle gym at the elementary school across the street and he was a total monkey on that thing. Then he climbed back on his bike and rode around the block.

I mean, this growing up stuff… it slows down eventually, right?

After the Gremlin drifted off, Ryan busted out the comic pajama bottoms and we settled in by electronic fireplace (thanks, Netflix!) to end the first day of the new year with an exciting game of Scrabble.

…you know…just in case our collective nerd status wasn’t totally sold on you yet.

He won. But by less than you might think.

Maybe this year will live up to its start.
One can only hope.

Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time. 
Laura Ingalls Wilder

I think anyone who is undecided about whether or not to have children should spend the holidays with one. Even if it did not convince them to run off and spawn, I think it would help them to see a little bit of why parents put up with all the various bodily fluids and countless tantrums and sleepless nights.

Christmas is a wonderful example of the absolute, unadulterated joy and beauty that having a child brings into your life.

When I was around 17, Christmas began to lose a little of its magic. The rituals and traditions started to lack in their general coziness and appeal. I did not know why and I did not like it.  I still wanted to love Christmas. I still wanted to go to bed with butterflies in my tummy. I still wanted the month of December to inch by, to wake up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning and chase my parents into the living room, to have the same sense of wonder and awe at the entire idea of the holiday. I still wanted to be a little girl.

But I wasn’t.

I would go through the motions, trying my best to be enthusiastic, wanting so desperately to feel even the tiniest fraction of what I had felt just the year before… and every year before that. Really, Christmas was still nice. My parents have always done a wonderful job of creating lovely holidays for our little family and those years, which I jokingly refer to as “The Lost Years” were just as sweet as the years before. It just wasn’t the same.

I have always hated growing up.

Then we had Liam…

Seriously? Our first Christmas as parents sucked. It totally blew.  After our plans for Liam to come home from the NICU were unceremoniously shattered, Ryan and I opted out of all family gatherings and had Christmas dinner at a local pub, trying to pretend that our hearts were not completely broken while simultaneously wallowing.  That is not exactly an easy thing to do, folks..but we definitely mastered it that year.

The next year was a little better. We had our boy home and I was oh, so grateful for his sweet presence. However, our family went through some personal and traumatic events leading up to the holidays and it left us all a bit delicate and shaken.  We tried though. We really did try.  It will forever be held in my mind as a bittersweet Christmas.

But this year…
this year… rocked my face off.

We went shopping, to festivals and to parades. We created and baked and listened to Christmas music nonstop. Liam Eliot learned about Christmas trees and baby Jesus and ornaments and Santa Claus and stockings and snowmen (although we were slightly disappointed by the lack of snow). We strung our house with lights. We followed old traditions, picked up a few new ones and delighted in the entire season.

And when Christmas weekend finally arrived…
I went to bed with butterflies in my tummy again.

Thanks to some awesome thrift store finds, great online sales and a bit of creativity, Liam had quite a large haul under our tree this year. We always hope to keep our holidays simple, emphasize the joy of giving and focus on family and traditions rather than gifts. However, Lee is 2 this year. It is the perfect age in my opinion: he is old enough to spoil but too little to be spoiled. So, Ryan and I allowed ourselves to go a tad bit crazy… just this once.

It was totally worth it.

We found the drums, blocks, and several other smaller gifts at various thrift stores.  The sensory box is Mama-made. The train set was purchased long ago, stashed and forgotten. And the bike?

That beautiful bike was worth every penny. (And, yes.. that is a coffee stain on my boy’s shirt. He enjoys a fresh cup of joe in the morning, okay? Don’t judge.)

I even upheld my promise to make our cinnamon rolls from scratch this year. And they were pretty darn tasty, I must say.

As it will always be, our quiet family morning was followed by family celebration after family celebration.  And we loved every minute of it.

My son will never be lacking in family this time of year. His childhood will be filled with fond memories, cozy rituals and lots of love. I am so grateful. And having Mr. L… is like Miracle Grow for my holiday spirit.

The magic, my friends, is back… with a vengeance.

As Lee would say, “Oh. Dere’s da magic.”